


Surrender

by flootzavut



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Blanket Permission, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Mild Angst, Romance, Sexual Relationship, Smut adjacent, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, but also with feelings, or maybe overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: She never asks; she doesn't have to. Chakotay counts it as a blessing that what Kathryn needs is something he loves to give.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brevityis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevityis/gifts).



> If you twisted my arm, I'd probably admit that I struggle to figure out how to get Kathryn Janeway to cross those boundaries with someone in her chain of command, but... the muse wants what the muse wants, and sometimes what the muse wants is two people who love each other deeply and have found ways to express that of which Starfleet might not approve
> 
> In short, please don't expect me to know when this fits into canon or how they got there, I don't have a clue, just assume they did get there and go with the flow, mkay? 😄♥️

* * *

_**Surrender** _

* * *

Chakotay's learned to recognise the signs on days like this - days when frustration wells up in her till she can hardly breathe, days when everything has spiralled out of her grasp and even her formidable force of will can't bring it back to order. Days when she has to be in control of something, even if that something is neither the ship nor its crew.

She never asks; she doesn't have to. Chakotay counts it as a blessing that what Kathryn needs is something he loves to give.

By the time she arrives in her quarters, everything is ready. Chakotay doesn't look up when she comes in. His head is bowed, his hands clasped behind his back. She makes a sound that's a mixture of surprise and relief, crosses to where he's kneeling by the bed, and runs her hand lightly over his hair. "Thank you, darling," she murmurs. He can hear the smile in her voice. "You're so good to me."

Chakotay waits as she crosses to the bathroom, listens to the shower (a sonic shower will never replace a bath, but he knows the settings she prefers in this mood), and allows his breathing to settle him more deeply into a meditative state. By the time she emerges, he feels light and full, and so very ready to take care of her in any way she wants.

"Chakotay," she says, her voice husky and almost sleepy, "come here."

He climbs gracefully onto the bed, but doesn't look up until she puts a hand on his jaw and lightly tugs so their eyes meet. She hasn't put on a robe, still naked after her shower; when she pulls him close, she's soft and warm. "You look after me so well," she says. "What would I ever do without you?"

He smiles. "You'll never have to find out."

It isn't a promise he should make, not while they're still in the Delta Quadrant without allies, but it's a comfort to say it, and when he says it, something eases in the line of her shoulders. She tucks her head into the crook of his neck and lets out a quiet but heartfelt moan when he digs his fingers into her trapezius.

"Would you like a massage?"

She hums. "So much." She lets him lay her facedown on the bed and arrange her to his liking, hands tucked under her head and face to one side. She keeps a bottle of her favourite massage oil in her nightstand; its warm, spicy scent will linger on her skin for hours, and tomorrow on the bridge it'll remind him how she feels under his hands, under his body, and he knows from experience that he still won't quite believe he gets to touch her, that they get to have this.

He starts at her feet, slow and steady, soothing away her aches and pains, working the knots in her calves till they melt away under his fingers, sliding his hands under her shins, and as he works he softly sings one of the songs his father taught him. He's not sure what all the words mean, but he knows the sense of it is care and comfort, and when he sings it to Kathryn, it's a way of saying all the things he's not ready to say aloud just yet, that she isn't ready to hear.

By the time he gets to her backside, she's letting out soft little noises of satisfaction as he kneads her muscles. It takes conscious effort not to be distracted, but Chakotay relishes the challenge. He straddles her thighs and works his way up her spine, gentle but thorough, then chases the last of the tension from her shoulders and down her arms. She's so relaxed, she lets her hands flop to the bed once he's done with them, the right side then the left, like a rag doll.

"Oh," she says. "Oh, that's better."

When he settles beside her again, she blinks her eyes open and smiles softly, a smile rarely seen outside her quarters. They stay like that for some time, watching each other, content just to be. Sometimes it's as if they don't even need words, as if whatever they each need the other to know is shared already in this space between waking and sleeping.

Eventually Kathryn rolls up onto her side to face him properly, then reaches out to touch his chest, hand flat on his sternum. She must be able to feel the thump of his heart, and how it beats faster because of her. She's still watching his face, studying it even, and he wouldn't bet against her noticing every detail and every change.

He feels exposed and vulnerable; with someone else it might scare him, but in moments like this, he realises anew how much he loves and trusts her. It's impossible to be scared when he feels so safe.

"Chakotay," she says. It's not a question, it's not to draw his attention; he couldn't be more focused on her if he tried. "Chakotay," she says again, and maybe she's saying it just to say it, to let the sound roll around her mouth and click off her tongue. "Chakotay."

"Kathryn," he responds at last, and it makes her blush prettily. He smooths her hair back from her forehead, tucks a wayward strand behind her ear, then runs his hand down her arm to rest on top of hers, over his heart. _It's yours_ , he wants to say, _it beats for you_. It wouldn't be fair; their relationship already crosses too many boundaries, blurs too many lines. So instead he holds her there and hopes she has some idea how important and vital she is to him, to them all.

After a long, long time, she slips her hand up, dipping into the hollow of his throat, curving it around his neck, tracing his jaw, then touching his cheek with the very tips of her fingers. "All right?" she murmurs, concern seeping into her tone. She still worries sometimes if this is okay, if she's doing something wrong - taking advantage or abusing her position. Thousands of lightyears from home, and she feels every ethical conundrum as sharply as if Starfleet were watching over her shoulder.

He leans in unbidden to kiss her, deep and heartfelt. "I'm here because I want to be here," he tells her when they surface. He drops his voice even lower; "And I treasure every second."

For a moment, she's completely silent and still, and he wonders if he's gone too far, admitted too much, but then her smile blooms like the sunrise, her eyes are bright with sudden tears, and she presses their foreheads together. "Chakotay," she whispers, like a prayer. "Oh, I couldn't do this without you."

Chakotay is certain she could do anything she put her mind to, with or without him or anyone else, but being her rock is a joy. "Then it's a good thing you don't have to."

She curls into his embrace, soft and warm and trusting. "I'm so glad you're here," she murmurs against his skin, sleepiness coming through now she's reassured. She finds his hand again and interlaces their fingers, nuzzling in close to press her face to his throat.

It's like a ritual. Chakotay doesn't know exactly what it means, he's not sure she does either, but he sleeps better on nights when Kathryn holds his hand.

It's enough.

In the morning they'll make love, and maybe he'll even take the lead and give her the space to abdicate her responsibilities for a little while. For now, sleep has claimed her; Chakotay tugs the comforter over their bodies, tells the computer to dim the lights, and follows soon after.

_~ fin ~_


End file.
